


It's Why I Care

by selyndae



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Adventure, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 17:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12988587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selyndae/pseuds/selyndae
Summary: Napoleon and Illya are on the run. But, this time is different. While they dodge and duck the elusive Thrush-like minions, something begins to change...





	It's Why I Care

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tish/gifts).



> Prompts: rope, disguises, narrow escapes, music _(what fun!)_

Napoleon Solo, handsome, suave, debonair, was unusually resplendent in his new suit. An almost radical departure from his usual ‘Brooks Brothers Businessman,’ this suit was made with a modern eye.

The medium-weight Italian wool was rich and smooth in a dark taupe shading into black. Careful attention had been given to the jacket design and subtle pattern in the material, bespeaking its quality. The trousers were especially stylish with a very slight flair halfway down the calf and a snug fit around his buttocks. Finally, the high waist and pleated front gave him a lean, polished look, even without the jacket.

His dress shirt was an even greater departure into the up-to-date look. Heavily-starched Egyptian cotton in a muted shade of burnt orange, paired with a silk tie of a darker shade, the pencil-thin diagonal stripes of dark grey added another quiet burst of color. The final touch was the tie tack and cuff links set—tiger’s eyes in deeply carved, highly polished gunmetal grey.

Napoleon had spotted the suit in a shop window while on a mission to Italy last month. He and his partner had taken refuge in the small, exclusive shop to hide from Thrush, and later, when things had wrapped up, purchased it on the spot. He just got it back from Del Floria last week. Since agent’s sizes were on file, the wizened tailor was able to finish the tailoring to perfection, even adding a couple of exploding buttons discretely on the inside. 

Flipping through his ‘in’ box, he was able to sign off on a few things before glancing back down at his watch. The meeting with Waverly was in fifteen minutes and so far, his partner hadn’t made an appearance. It wasn’t like Illya to leave things at the last minute, unless caught up in the lab…or in trouble. He was about to call using his communicator, when the door slid open and in sailed his partner.

His eyes widened as he took in said partner’s appearance. Illya was wearing a perfectly tailored charcoal suit of his own and looked positively… _gorgeous!_ There was no other word for it. Having gotten used to the appearance of the man in ill-fitting off-the-rack suits, the properly fitting one was, well, gorgeous.

The suit had a faint undertone of deep navy which highlighted Illya’s intense blue eyes, and he looked so good, that for a moment, Napoleon was unable to speak. The double-take wasn’t lost on his partner who quirked a brief grin, but before he could speak, his communicator sounded. Shooting a _this-isn’t-over_ look, he answered the call.

“Solo.”

_“Napoleon, Mr. Waverly has moved the meeting with you and Illya to 10:00.”_

Napoleon jotted the change on his calendar. “Thanks, Lisa. We’ll be there.”

_“You’re welcome.”_

Napoleon dis-assembled the communicator and turned to comment, but Illya spoke first.

“Good. This gives me some time to check on some things in Research.” He headed for the door. “I’ll see you at the meeting.” And with that, he left.

“Gee, don’t stay on my account.” Napoleon, still a bit stunned at the way the morning had gone so far, stared down at his desk. He started to reach for one of the open files and stopped. _Coffee. That’s what I need._ Double-checking to make sure everything was secure, he suddenly grinned. _I guess my sense of style is finally working!_

Satisfied, Napoleon shot his cuffs and left the office to get that cup of coffee. (And if he was also showing off his own beautiful suit for affirming glances from the various females within the organization, well, all the better!)

As he made his way down the non-descript chrome and gunmetal halls, nodding absently to the various employees he met on the way, Illya’s unusually elegant appearance kept intruding. There had to be some special reason for today’s attire. 

_Today’s meeting wouldn’t be enough, so… Research, eh? I wonder who’s working in Research today… Stephanie, or is it Rhonda…? Becky!_

Napoleon grinned, satisfied with his reasoning. Becky was a buxom blonde with a curvy figure for all her lack of stature (she was just under 5’2”). Napoleon had an above-average libido and was keenly interested in anything in a prurient nature which tended to put a sexual slant on things.

Once in the comfortable break room, he headed for the coffee bar at the back. Several coffee carafes with specialty coffees were next to the usual coffee urns of Columbian roast and decaffeinated brews. At this hour, there was still a nice selection of small pastries under a domed cover as well as a bowl of apples and oranges.

Ignoring the sweets (his waistline had begun to show a disturbing trend to getting thicker if he didn’t keep an iron control on his diet), he finally opted to get a cup of the Columbian roast. As he poured, his ears picked up bits of the conversation around him.

“Honestly, Mil, some of those men are— _you_ know!”

“If you don’t want them to look, you shouldn’t wear such short skirts.”

Gail preened for a moment as she crossed her lovely legs. Then she frowned. “It shouldn’t make any difference. I mean, there’s looking and there’s… _looking._ A girl’s got a right to look her best.”

Her friend nudged her. “Speaking of looking their best…”

She glanced up and saw the handsome agent, seemingly unaware, stirring a little cream in his coffee. She smiled and shrugged slightly before leaning toward her friend and whispering, “Okay, I give. I guess a fox is just what a girl needs to give her a little lift.”

Nodding, Milly whispered back. “It’s only fair it should go both ways.”

“As long as it stops, if asked.”

Startled, the women looked up at the suave agent who was suddenly next to their table. Napoleon winked. “Good morning ladies.”

Coffee in hand, he found himself automatically strolling down to the lower levels to see how things were progressing…

The door was locked. Frowning, the CEA studied it for a moment, trying to recall if this was normal… Or, was his partner using the location for a private place for…seduction.

He leaned over to listen…

And slumped over, just as he became aware of a faint hissing. _Gas!_

\--mfu—mfu—mfu—mfu—mfu—

“I know what it sounds like.” Illya turned from his fiddling with the rope to glare at his partner with exasperation. “Unless you have a better idea! Reinforcements will be here any minute, so…?” 

Napoleon shrugged, unable to come up with anything that wouldn’t result in their immediate death. He grinned suddenly. “I guess a ridiculous idea is better than, well, you know. What do you need me to do?”

Illya’s shoulders relaxed at his partner’s show of faith, but his tone was singularly dry. “When I give the word, I want you to climb up this rope as fast as you can. When you reach the top, tap the rope twice.” He turned back to the heavy coil of rope at his feet. “Napoleon, I need to concentrate on this, so…”

“I’ll see you at the top then.”

“Get ready.” Illya squatted down next to the coiled rope and began to hum a peculiarly nasal-sounding tune. 

Napoleon merely raised his eyebrows as he waited. The tune seemed to expand, seeping its way into his very pores. The more he listened, the more familiar the tune became, weaving its way into a hauntingly beautiful essence. The nasal tone smoothed out becoming soothing, making him relax as he waited.

The rope uncoiled and began to rise up into the air in a strangely seductive swaying movement, in time with the music. Mesmerized, he watched as the rope undulated its way upward. Wisps of fog drifted into the blind alley and upwards with the rope, until the top was hidden by the ever-thickening fog.

Suddenly the rope stiffened.

 _Now!_ Illya motioned sharply, still intent on the rope and the tune.

A bemused Napoleon shook himself out of his stupor before rubbing his hands together and reaching for the rope, testing it. Finding it firm and apparently attached to… _something_ , he began to scramble up. Fortunately, the rope wasn’t slick like nylon, and he was able to manage the climb fairly quickly.

As he neared the top, the fog thickened even more. It was now too dense to see anything through the insidious wisps which felt slightly…menacing. He continued to climb until he couldn’t feel any more rope above him. Automatically locking his legs around the rope to brace himself, he tapped the rope twice with a free hand. That done, he gripped the rope firmly with both hands—to keep his grip, but also to keep from…exploring. He had a sinking feeling that the rope wasn’t attached to anything and really, _really, **really**_ did not want to think what that meant.

He felt the rope shake a little like someone was climbing up. The music suddenly reached some kind of crescendo and stopped. The rope shook some more and suddenly, he felt a tap on his foot. Peering down through the fog, he could just make out Illya’s bright hair.

In another second, Illya had scrambled up next to his partner. Winding an arm around the rope for greater purchase, he pulled something out of his pocket and tossed it down to the ground. The rope shook some more as the sound of an explosion and gunfire drifted up.

“Grab hold of my belt!” hissed Illya urgently.

Napoleon secured himself more firmly to the rope and grabbed his partner’s belt.

As soon as he did, Illya raised both hands up, and placing his forefingers in his mouth, let loose with a loud, shrill whistle.

It seemed to go on forever, getting louder and louder, until Napoleon wanted nothing more than to hold his ears to shut out the cacophony! He threw an anguished glance at his partner, but before he could shout out above the din, _everything fell silent._

And the rope turned slack.

Before he could react, blackness overtook him…

\--mfu—mfu—mfu—mfu—mfu—

Stretching to unkink from his cramped position, Napoleon sighed in pleasure. The bed was warm and extremely comfortable. His hand moved over the smooth sheets (800 thread count at least) before straying up to the light-weight blanket, soft as down. Rolling over, his arm bumped into a warm body and he automatically stretched out to cuddle his bedmate with soothing touches. His wandering hand reached up to find a lock of soft hair and he absently twirled it around his finger.

Or, rather he tried to—the hair was a bit shorter than he was used to. And soft. Really soft. Certainly not as stiff as the usual lacquered-down styles the women in his circles affected. He opened a bleary eye and looked over at his companion.

And froze! _Illya?_

The Russian’s eyes were open and looking up at his partner’s hand (which had suddenly pulled back), before sitting up, his hair all askew. He gave a twitch of his lips in merriment before yawning and slipping out of bed.

Napoleon watched his partner go into the bathroom. _Boxers. Oh, good. At least he’s not naked—_

The shower came on, momentarily interrupting this decidedly weird train of thought. He gave himself a shake before snuggling back down under the covers. _It really **was** a wonderfully comfortable bed. _

_Okay, then, why should it matter? We’re not out in the open, freezing, or in the middle of Times Square, for that matter, so…_

_Wait! Where are we?_

The sound of the shower shutting off broke into the somewhat alarming thoughts. He sat bolt upright with a start. “Illya!”

“What?” Illya reappeared at the door clad only in a towel, gun in hand. His eyes darted around the room.

Napoleon, sitting on the edge of the bed, bit his lip. “Illya, what happened? I… I don’t remember how we got here. Or, for that matter, where _here_ is.”

Illya relaxed, turning back into the bathroom to retrieve his holster before returning. He set the re-holstered gun on the nightstand and began to dry his hair with another towel. “We’re safe here. For the moment, anyway. No doubt you’ll want to take advantage of the bathroom facilities.” He gave a tiny grin. “They are truly extravagant.”

“But…how…?”

“Ah…” Illya’s expression turned sly as he recited, “It would seem to be merely corroborative detail, intended to lend artistic verisimilitude to an otherwise bald and unconvincing narrative…”

 _“Illya!”_ And threw a pillow at him.

Ducking the missile easily, Illya grinned again, completely unrepentant, before dropping his towel and turning to rummage through the top drawer of the dresser for a clean pair of underwear.

\--mfu—mfu—mfu—mfu—mfu—

Napoleon finished knotting his tie and was giving a critical look at his overall appearance. He frowned slightly at some lint on his suit coat lapel, but a careful flick removed the offending bit of fluff. He brightened as he gazed at his now flawless appearance.

His whirlwind of a partner had just slipped on his usual off-the-rack suit which hung on his small frame. Without even a glance in the mirror, he rapidly finger-combed his hair which had been mussed from pulling off his turtleneck (exchanging it for a shirt). Another flick and the tie was tightened…

 _The differences between us are what makes this partnership work so well..._ Napoleon smiled indulgently as he followed his partner as they headed out for dinner. 

\--mfu—mfu—mfu—mfu—mfu—

Sitting inside the hidden passage of the century-old mansion, the UNCLE agents continued their surveillance. At least they were in a comfortably warm area, safe from the raging blizzard outside. It was also secure—something all too rare in their experience— _especially_ when not in headquarters surrounded by security both in the technological sense and agents!

It was Illya’s turn to watch through the secret eyehole which gave a birds-eye view of the large study. The room was furnished with a massive desk and plush chair. Four matching chairs in the same burgundy velvet were lined up against the walls, flanking the desk, two on each side. The wall behind the desk was a custom floor to ceiling bookcase filled with leather-bound books, and an attached library ladder. The final wall had two small bookcases flanking the heave, ornate door. Paintings in baroque gold frames were hung above the bookcases. The overall appearance would have been overdone in a smaller room, but this room was large enough that the furnishing made it cozy.

The hidden passage they were in had a similar library ladder attached to a matching bookcase, but unlike the study, this room had a small loft with more bookcases above it. The loft was just large enough to have a chair which could be comfortably positioned to look through the peephole. The loft area and bookcases were above as well as below, and it went around the entire room. There was even a tiny refrigerator tastefully tucked behind a discrete cupboard door which carried a pleasant assortment of elegant snacks.

And then, in the center of the room was the bed.

It was _enormous!_

Ornately covered in a heavy damask bedspread over soft, cotton sheets, the bed should have been completely out of place in this pseudo-library setting. Instead, it looked inviting and comfortable. And called to him like Odysseus’ sirens.

But, he didn’t _want_ to succumb to the lush softness of the indescribably beautiful women from the Greek novels. He found himself wanting to succumb to the firm strength and muscle of his partner…

\--mfu—mfu—mfu—mfu—mfu—

Illya glanced over at his partner who was methodically going through the paperwork on his desk at a surprising rate. As Napoleon worked, he was humming occasional snatches of some kind of time almost under his breath.

Illya frowned. Napoleon wasn’t very good at carrying a tune, but the tune could usually be identified after a fashion. This one was completely unknown. Even worse, it was a rather catchy tune, giving him the strongest urge to hum along!

He gave his head a shake and with a sigh got up. _This is ridiculous! Coffee. That’s what I need._

\--mfu—mfu—mfu—mfu—mfu—

The cheap motel room was—as far as they could tell—bug free. Both electronic and organic; both reserved judgment regarding the latter. The walls were, of course, paper thin. Their neighbor’s voices could be heard quite clearly as the couple argued until finally, a door slammed shut, shaking those thin walls. After a moment, the TV came on—fortunately, not as loud as the people had been!

Napoleon, too tired to sleep, decided to try the paperback he picked up earlier at the airport. Laying on one of the double beds, ankles crossed, and pillows, at his back against the headboard, he flipped on the bedside lamp and started to read. 

Illya had finished cleaning his gun at the cheap table and was using the remote to flit through the TV channels. Only three came in decently with a fourth was barely visible through the ‘snow’ interference. He finally settled on Channel 9 which had an older man with a pleasant baritone, apparently hosting the show. Right now he was talking about a western which would be the movie today on ‘Bill Kennedy’s Showtime.’ 

Illya was immediately interested; he rather enjoyed American Westerns. Taking a cue from his partner, he placed the remote on the nightstand and set up his own pillows behind his back on the other double bed.

The commercial block over, the host was back on giving a lively commentary about the actors in the film _Silver City Bonanza_ , modestly mentioning his own small role in the picture.

Napoleon had been surreptitiously watched his partner while ostensibly reading his rather lurid paperback. A languid sense of rightness surrounded him like warm fleece. Illya’s enjoyment of the movie—in fact, Illya’s enjoyment of many things whether it be an American Western, a well-cooked meal, or a friendly competition at the gym—gave him a decided feeling of contentment and…

At that point, Napoleon firmly pushed all thoughts of his partner away (except that bit that needed to keep aware while on duty), and returned to his book with determination.

A few chapters into the ‘quick read’ novel began to squirm its way into his very being. The hero—a lusty man with apparently unlimited sexual prowess—began to take on an oddly satisfying resemblance to himself. As he read, though, the expected ‘damsel in distress who eventually gives in to the overpowering hero,’ did not materialize. Instead of a beautiful, but oh-so helpless girl, there was a sly, but stalwart blond of many talents—and manly attributes of an equally lusty nature!

At his burgeoning erection, Napoleon squeezed his eyes shut as he quickly closed the book.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes!” Napoleon shifted a little, trying to get comfortable. He opened his eyes and caught his partner’s knowing glance.

“Um, if you want to take a, um, a shower…?”

_Damn! He did see! Well, at least he doesn’t know exactly why…_

“Maybe later.”

\--mfu—mfu—mfu—mfu—mfu—

Illya sat, hunkered down, in the small, oddly-shaped recess between the chimney and the bedroom. Apparently the builder had trouble with his measurements since the chimney had to lean at least 30 degrees to end up in the center of the roof. The mistake was their salvation. The unused space had been built with a false wall to hide the error, making a tight, but well-hidden niche. 

The location of the old house was in a critical spot. By some weird juxtaposition of features to location, the house was in a place where it would be possible to ‘punch’ a brief electronic hole and capture information from Thrush’s Ultimate Computer satellite. Up in the attic, three floors up, was the ideal location. It could only be a very short burst from this spot, but if successful, they would have a direct line to Thrush’s plans!

Illya had finally up his electronic eyes and ears to his satisfaction and was just arranging a relatively comfortable sitting area when Napoleon saw strangers pulling up. Uh, oh…

“We have company.” 

He heard them unlock the door and could track their progress through the house by the creaks on the floor. Unwilling to do anything too sophisticated (in case it interfered with the sensitive electronic equipment, Illya had just set up), he could only listen at the door through a glass.

“I’m about beat, Joe. Why’d we have to watch that empty warehouse for, anyway?”

“We get paid either way, so _shaddap._ ”

“Ah, Joe, I didn’t mean anything by it. I know it’s a good job…”

Napoleon heard them move to another part of the house and quietly walked over by his partner in the small recess.

Illya, sensing his partner’s eyes on him, lifted up one side of his headphones. “I don’t suppose they’re leaving.”

“Afraid not. I think we’ll have to delay lunch.”

Illya muttered something under his breath.

“I think they’re in the kitchen.”

“Perhaps they’ll eat up the ketchup and mustard…”

Napoleon flashed a smile. “If they don’t, I promise I’ll restrain myself.”

“I am _so_ glad.”

“I’m sure you…” He broke off suddenly and cocked an ear at the loud creak from the stairs.

“What?” he mouthed silently.

“Our company is headed upstairs.” Even as he whispered the news, Napoleon motioned, intending to slip outside the attic window. There was a spot near the chimney he should be able to stay out of sight…

“In here,” hissed Illya

“Both of us? I don’t know…”

“No time. In here. Now.” 

With that, Illya pulled his partner into the seat and on his lap. “Pull the panel.”

Quarters were _very_ snug with the two men crammed in a space just comfortably large enough for one. After some squirming and shifting around, Napoleon managed to pull the makeshift panel back into place.

Not a moment too soon!

Through the plaster lathe, they heard the attic door open.

\--mfu—mfu—mfu—mfu—mfu—

“Are you kidding me?” Napoleon glared at the memo he’d just opened. He tossed it back on his desk with a snarl of disgust as he stood up and began to pace. His partner watched, surprised by the emotion rolling off the man.

Napoleon stopped abruptly and spun around toward his partner. “Does it ever seem like we keep doing the same thing over and over again, without even putting a dent into stopping anything?”

Illya glanced down at his stack of never-ending paperwork. “Of course?”

Napoleon grimaced and resumed his pacing. “Another mad scientist—we stop him. Another plot to set up a volcano, or earthquake, or tidal wave—we stop it. Another plot for a revolution—we stop them.” He whirled suddenly and stopping in front of his partner’s desk, leaned over to look him straight in the eye. “The bad guys keep dishing it out, and, we. Keep. Stopping them. When does it end?”

Illya was becoming alarmed at Napoleon’s rant. While he often felt overwhelmed at times he kept his doubts about any possible futility to himself. He was Soviet and had been trained early on not to question any kind of authority—at least, not aloud. 

With UNCLE, he found a happy medium. Waverly in particular, had a firm grasp of world events and the ramifications of interference or non-interference.

In his attained rank within the Command, he’d also had to make decisions sometimes in apparent conflict of the Section I edicts, but, he still believed in the system.

For Napoleon to rail against it was tantamount to flinging his clothes off onto the floor and doing a tap dance on top…

_Oh, please! If that wasn’t a completely inappropriate—_

\--mfu—mfu—mfu—mfu—mfu—

“Napoleon?”

Illya’s voice floated across the room like a gentle wisp of smoke. Napoleon smiled at that thought, but managed to keep the smile out of his voice.

“Yes?”

Illya kept all expression of heartfelt relief at hearing his partner’s voice _(finally)._

“Um, nothing. Just checking to see if you’re awake.”

Napoleon felt a heavy weight lift off him at his partner’s carefully controlled concern. Illya. A staunch friend, terrific partner—the envy of nearly all of UNCLE. All that and a gorgeous blond, too! As that ‘forbidden’ idea came to mind, he carefully (if a bit awkwardly) wiped the fond (and somewhat lecherous) smile off his face.

“Napoleon? Are you alright?”

 _Uh oh._ Napoleon scrambled to order his thoughts together.

“I’m awake! That is, I’m, er, I’m fine.” _Wait, that’s Illya’s line!_ “That’s what you always say.”

A faint choking chuckle. “I see. Well, then, be sure that you stay that way, if you will.”

A warm feeling like a sweet, comfortable blanket melted over Napoleon at his partner’s words. He relaxed even further as he let go of the unpleasant realities of— Frowning, he tried to recall why there even were unpleasant realities.

Glancing around, he blinked his eyes rapidly trying to get them to focus. When that failed, he moved his hands up to—

_My hands are manacled to these dungeon walls! When did that happen???_

“Napoleon!”

Suddenly realizing that his partner was starting to get a panicky edge to his voice, Napoleon opened his eyes again and gave a comforting smile. Or tried to, at any rate—his face didn’t seem to be any easier to move than his manacled hands. _What was I given???_

\--mfu—mfu—mfu—mfu—mfu—

The familiar sounds of Medical wafted into his gradually returning consciousness. As his senses took in the information, he realized that he had to be in an UNCLE Medical facility—and even more to the point—the one in New York. Allowing his eyes to open the merest bit, he glanced around the room. Finally, spotting the bright blond of his partner over on the next bed, he opened his eyes further.

_Illya’s here._

\--mfu—mfu—mfu—mfu—mfu—

Illya squeezed his eyes shut, momentarily dizzy. Opening them back up again, he glanced around, finding himself in a small bookshop. A more careful look revealed an eclectic selection of old and new books on the tall floor-to-ceiling shelves. Several small tables had eye-pleasant displays of some of the new books with other titles in the same venue or other books by the same author.

He was holding on to a large, free-standing ladder. After another moment to make sure the dizziness had really passed, he let go and carefully began to walk around, checking for threats and hoping to find something that would tell him how he got here…

The bell over the front door tinkled cheerily as it opened, admitting a pretty brunette inside. She smiled, upon spying him, and hurried toward the back of the shop, shedding her coat and she walked confidently to the back of the small shop.

“Sorry I’m late! I had to wait for the croissants.” She held up a small white bag, giving it a little shake. “I’ll have coffee ready in a jiff.”

Not sure what to make of this, Illya continued to move around the shop until he came to the front where a large, multi-paned window with a window seat displaying books looked out to the street. Black letters were printed on the glass. _Bertain’s Book Shoppe._

The young woman came back, carrying two steaming cups of espresso. “The croissants are still warm, but you look like you need this now, Phillipe.” At his puzzled look, she smiled, lighting up her face. “Don’t worry. I checked on that shipment while the coffee was brewing. Dispatch says it’s on time and should be here soon.”

Just then the bell gave another tinkle as the door opened, admitting Napoleon in a somewhat crumpled overcoat and wearing glasses. The girl behind him gave a squeal of delight. Napoleon’s eyes lit up at that. “Nina!”

“Oh, Bill, you’re back!”

They rushed together and hugged each other tightly as if afraid to ever let go.

 _Is this an assignment? I don't recall anything requiring us to go undercover._ Illya suddenly felt out of place and shook his head as he tried to make sense of it…

\--mfu—mfu—mfu—mfu—mfu—

The familiar sounds of Medical wafted into his gradually returning consciousness. As his senses took in the information, he realized that he had to be in an UNCLE Medical facility—and even more to the point—the one in New York. Allowing his eyes to open the merest bit, he glanced around the room. Finally, spotting the warm chestnut hair (with the rather adorable forelock) of his partner over on the next bed, he opened his eyes further.

_Napoleon’s here._

\--mfu—mfu—mfu—mfu—mfu—

“Doctor Tower? What…?”

“Oh good, you’re finally awake.” Tower moved over and put his stethoscope into position to check. Finally a short nod of satisfaction before pressing the call button. As the nurse came in, a movement from the other bed caught his eye. He smiled in relief.

“You’re both awake. Excellent.”

With that he walked over to check his other patient. After listening, he glanced over at the nurse who was smiling down at Solo while she checked his vitals.

\--mfu—mfu—mfu—mfu—mfu—

Laying near the pool in comfortable lounge chairs, an umbrella offering shade, and ice-cold drinks close at hand, Napoleon and Illya lounged comfortably in the afternoon sun. Illya had been swimming for a time, but his strength still wasn’t quite up to snuff, so now he was resting.

Napoleon had skipped getting into the pool at all, except to dangle his legs in while his partner swam.

“They caught her trying to sneak that last canister out.” Illya sighed. “Mirovsky had such promise, too.”

“Oh, I don’t know. For a change it’s rather nice to find a mole who is as nasty inside and out! So many seem so…nice. On the outside at least. Have they figured out why?”

Illya grinned. “Jealousy. And greed. The usual.”

Napoleon made a face of disgust. “The greed I get, but jealousy?”

“Yes, it…” Illya’s expression turned serious. “We will no doubt be required to see the, er, shrinks, before we’re allowed to return to duty.”

“Ridiculous. After all, it was just…just a drug.”

“A drug… That’s it?” 

”What else? I don’t know about you, but some of the things I felt were too, too, ah, peculiar.”

Illya abruptly stood up. “I believe I’ll take another swim.”

“Illya, wait a sec..”

Illya paused, waiting patiently.

“The things I _saw_ were pretty strange, but there was something else going on—something I really hope was… _real_. Okay, just don’t punch me. Maybe later, if you have to, when we’re both better.” 

And with that, he reached for his partner, giving him a very thorough and warm kiss. He took his time, putting everything he felt into that kiss before finally pulling back for a moment to catch his breath.

Illya touched his lips delicately for a moment before smiling and pulling his partner in for a kiss of his own, mouth working, until both men were warm and panting.

“I may have experienced that as well.”

Their eyes sparkled with elation.

Hand in hand, they went into the small, cozy safe house, and locked the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s note:  
> The various hallucinations/dreams/what-have-you were coincidently inspired by a few familiar books and roles by Mr. Vaughn and Mr. McCallum.


End file.
